The Undying

She was so wonderful I wonderedIf wedding me she had not blundered;She was so pure, so high above me,I marvelled how she came to love me:Or did she? Well, in her own fashion -Affection, pity, never passion.

I knew I was not worth her love;Yet oh, how wistfully I stroveTo be her equal in some way;She knew I tried, and I would praySome day she'd hold her head in pride,And stand with praising by my side.

A Weakling, I - she made me strong;My finest thoughts to her belong;Through twenty years she mothered me,And then one day she smothered meWith kisses, saying wild with joy:"Soon we'll be three - let's hope, a boy."

"Too old to bear a child," they said;Well, they were right, for both are dead. . . .Ah no, not dead - she is with me,And by my side she'll ever be;Her spirit lingers, half divine:All good I do is hers, not mine.

God, by my works O let me striveTo keep her gentleness alive!Let in my heart her spirit glow,And by my thoughts for others showShe is not dead: she'll never dieWhile love for humankind have I.